My gut knots as the air inside hits me, cool, filtered and sterile. Cassidy nudges him ahead and we fall in behind him.
Our boots squeaking against the floor, what the fuck? It’s sheet vinyl.
My eyes adjust to the clinical lighting. Metal and equipment come into view, then the pungent smell of antiseptic.
My heart accelerates.
Cassidy and I don’t take another step. Nothing could have prepared us for what waited inside.
CHAPTER NINE
Two rows of hydraulic operation tables extend before us, six on either side for a total of twelve. Stainless steel reflects the sterile overhead lights.
Six of them are occupied. Men and Women.
All of them are restrained and unmoving.
I sway on my feet and try to battle the feeling of queasiness.
My vision stabilizes, and I hastily take in the room.
Most of them have their legs spread wide in stirrups, completely naked with vaginal and anal plugs inside of them. The arrangement feels less like medical care and more like preparation.
Every table is flanked by monitors and machines. Heart monitors chirp regularly. IV pumps deliver a constant flow of medication. Ventilators hiss in measured intervals beside the unconscious bodies, their tubing winding through sheets and restraints. Oxygen monitors blink softly with dim light. Wires, tubes, and cables stretch in every direction, transforming the room into a maze of machinery designed to keep its occupants alive but under someone else’s control.
After the initial shock wears off, we take a few wary steps farther into the room.
That’s when I see it. Scars.
Dozens of them, crisscrossing abdomens like a roadmap of suffering. All are in different stages of healing. Some are thin, pale lines while others are angry and red, standing out starkly against damaged skin.
My stomach bottoms out as I take in the worst part of it. Several of the bodies bear large, raised wounds, raw and inflamed. Grid-like sections of flesh missing, leaving a disturbing patchwork of scar tissue and healing skin.
This isn’t medical or humane.
It’s skin harvesting.
That’s when I see her, the woman thatjackinthebox149just purchased. She’s naked and under anesthesia, unmarked with a white sheet over her, stopping right at her neckline.
Based on the time she was purchased, she has only been under for a few hours or less. By the looks of the rest of them, I’m not sure how long they have been here.
Cassidy is still clutchingjackinthebox149to her with the knife at his throat.
As the shock loosens its grip, a woman’s absentminded humming carries through the mechanical noise.
In the back corner, all I can see is a man’s head swaying slightly back and forth, close to the floor. A dark pool of blood widening below him.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
A high-pitched tinkling travels through the space like rocks scraping together.
I latch ontojackinthebox149and shove him to his knees, squashing my boot on his injured foot. A pained wheeze escapes him.
“Don’t fucking move, and if I hear a sound come out of you, I’ll remove your tongue from your mouth,” I seethe.
He shrinks in on himself, doubling over, any fight he had snuffed out.
Cassidy squints over at me, the knife practically fused to herhand. Her knuckles are bone-white around the hilt. I keep my Glock at the ready, my finger resting alongside the trigger guard.
